


Crush What a Rush

by fandomscolliding



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Timkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomscolliding/pseuds/fandomscolliding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: tim/kon first meeting with fluff and flirting or: how Tim Drake thought Conner was a bit too good looking</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush What a Rush

The first time Tim sees Conner, he thinks that maybe he’s seen him somewhere before. He knows, logically, that he’s Clark’s clone, that he’s got his basic bone structure, his clear blue eyes, his moon-dark hair. But he’s also got Lex Luthor in him, hidden somewhere deep and twisting. So no, he’s not thinking of Superman when he sees his face.

It’s something different.

He flips his face through the rolodex of people he’s seen before, but he can’t place him, and it’s unsettling, like Conner’s a face in a dream, one he’s seen in a flash, in passing, in a crowd, someone he’s known in the real world but now only exists in his head. He realizes, vaguely, that Conner is handsome in the way that few people were—all blue eyes, long legs, and a face that was somehow nicer than Clark’s—and it makes an unpleasant feeling push at his chest.

Nevertheless, he decides he doesn’t like Conner Kent. He doesn’t like the way he sneers at Clark, because Clark’s never been anything but the best (after Dick, though, but somewhere even with Bruce). He doesn’t like the way he looks at Tim like he’s not the Boy Wonder, like instead he’s a hostile native of a world he’s never been a part of. 

But most of all, he doesn’t like the way Conner doesn’t seem to know himself—the way Tim sees it, Conner doesn’t know where his power begins and his strength ends, and it makes him dangerous in a unique and terrifying way.

He clenches and unclenches his fist, the metal boning of his gloves snapping as he does—click, click—and Conner’s eyes snap to his hand, like he knows how Tim is running scenarios in his head, deciding the ways he can incapacitate Conner Kent. Bruce had said that he doesn’t have to worry about Conner, that there’s (probably) no future fight to prepare for, but seeing the way Conner looks like some dark version of Superman, he’s not so sure he believes Bruce.

“Superman and I have some things to talk about,” Bruce says, almost pointedly. Tim can feel Bruce’s gaze on him, and he rolls his eyes, glad that his lenses are opaque and nobody can see his insubordination. Clark and Bruce walk away, and Tim remembers Bruce telling him that Conner, “just needs a friend,” and that Tim could “be that friend,” and that apparently he was supposed to “play nice and not do recon.” However, that didn’t change years of training, and the way Tim saw it, Conner was a possible threat, with his perfect muscles and too blue eyes and pretty smile and wait, what?

“You ok there, Bird Boy?”

“It’s Robin,” Tim all but snaps, trying to fight down a blush because the light filtering through the tall windows is hitting Conner’s cheekbones just right and something about it makes Tim feel like he’s been sucker punched by Killer Croc.

“Whatever.” Conner looks away and drifts towards the statue of Superman, arms crossed in a way that makes his biceps flex nicely. Tim sighs and tells himself to keep it professional—Dick can keep it together around Babs so he can get over this infatuation. He’s the smartest Robin, and he’s at least ninety-nine percent sure that he can logic his way out of a budding crush.

“Clark’s pretty cool.” He starts, wanting to kick himself because he’s never been smooth but he’s usually not awkward.

Conner, though, just glares at the statue, blue eyes glinting red, “Whatever.”

“Is that all you can say, or what?”

“Look, Robin,” Conner grits out suddenly, “you don’t have to pretend like you want to get to know me, or like me, or any of that.” He turns that blue-red glare on Tim, and Tim is surprised to see something that looks a lot less like anger and a lot more like loneliness in his burning gaze.

“Fine. I won’t pretend to like you, and I won’t lie to you,” Conner’s eyes turn a deeper blue at this and the red light fades a bit, leaving him looking a little lost and a lot like a teenager that was weighed down by expectations and fear. And Tim, despite himself, feels something like camaraderie. Conner, he realizes, is a lot like him, trying to live up to an impossible standard while living under the unrelenting gaze of a closed-off mentor. “But I think I would like to get to know you,” he adds, surprising himself.

“You would?” Though his voice is guarded, there’s a sort of fragile hope at the edge of his words.

“Yeah, I mean, Batman and Superman are the World’s Finest, the best duo outside of Batman and Robin, and we’re they’re legacy, you know.”

“Oh,” Conner looks away, voice gone flat, eyes still that ocean blue, “right,” he mutters, “World’s Finest.” He walks away, head down, and Tim realizes that he’s done something wrong.

“Wait, Kon,” he scrambles after Conner, wanting to get this right.

“Did you just call me Kon?” He asks, sounding surprised but not quite displeased.

“Yeah, sorry I just…” Tim trails off, not sure how to explain that he sees a bit of himself in Conner, and that despite how he was feeling five minutes ago, he actually wouldn’t mind being his friend. (And no, it had nothing to do with the fact that Conner’s got just enough of Lex in him to make his bone structure even more defined than Clark’s.)

“No, it’s ok. I like Kon.” He looks away, something that looks suspiciously like a blush on his cheekbones, “Conner never felt like me. Too apple pie, you know?”

Tim grins a bit at that, “Yeah, I guess…Look, Kon, I don’t just want to be your friend because of our mentors. There’s not many kids like us, and we don’t all get along, so it would be nice. To be your friend, I mean.”

“Don’t you have the Ex-Robin Club to keep you company?”

“Well, Nightwing’s out in Blüdhaven, and the Red Hood keeps trying to kill me, so no, I don’t, and in any case, you can never have too many friends. At least that’s what Nightwing tells me.”

Conner smiles a bit, “I think Nightwing and Clark would get along.”

Tim rolls his eyes, “You have no idea. I’m pretty sure he’s got like a shrine to Clark in his apartment or something.”

Conner outright laughs at that, and Tim feels his breath catch in his throat at the way his whole face seems to light up.

“Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about baseball?”

 

 

“I can’t believe you suck at sports. Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of awesomely coordinated, mini-super soldier, or something?”

Tim flops backward onto the ground, huffing indignantly, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at baseball, Kon,” he says scathingly, but he can’t keep the grin off his face, because the past few hours in the park were more fun than he’s had since that time Dick smuggled him out of Gotham for an unapproved trip to Disneyland. “I was trained to incapacitate a man with a newspaper, not score touchdowns.”

“Wrong game,” Tim can all but hear the smile in Conner’s voice as he drops down beside Tim, fiddling with the baseball mitt.

“Yeah, well give me a week and I bet I can beat you, even with your perfect muscles and super-strength.”

“You think I have perfect muscles, huh?” Conner smirks down at him, and Tim sits up, blushing as he looks away.

“No, I just meant—“

“In any case,” Conner interrupts, “I bet you can’t. If it weren’t for Clarks rule against me joining sports teams, I’d be all-state champ in everything in a matter of months,” he tosses the mitt at Tim, whose arm snaps out reflexively to catch it. “Beat that, Boy Wonder.”

“Ha! Just you watch, Conner Kent, one week and I’ll be sweeping the field with your sorry behind.” He boasts as Bruce materializes out of the shadows of some trees. Tim sighs, dusting himself off, still holding onto Conner’s mitt, “I’ve got to go; duty calls, and all that.”

“Yeah,” Conner says, glancing up, “Superman’s waiting for me too.”

Tim clears his throat, feeling suddenly awkward—unsure of how to end their conversation.

“Are you free?” Conner asks abruptly, “Next weekend, I mean. Are you free sometime? Because I was wondering if you wanted to hang out, or something. I mean you don’t have to, but still…”

Tim bites back a smile, “I think I can make time, I mean crime never sleeps but I think Batman wouldn’t mind some solo work.”

“Cool,” Conner’s grinning again, and Tim feels his heart catch in a way that makes him want to let whatever this is turn into something more. Conner starts to drift upwards. “See you then,” he calls and then he’s gone, lost somewhere in the clouds. It’s only then that he realizes he never gave back Conner’s baseball gloves, and his fingers close tighter around the worn leather, feeling embarrassingly giddy at the fact that he’d have to see Conner again to return it.

 

 

“I take it it went well?” Bruce asks once they’re back in the Batmobile.

“Yeah. Conner’s cool.” He’s blushing a bit, and he’s not entirely sure why.

Bruce taps his fingers on the steering wheel, “So, Conner’s pretty cute, right?” he starts clumsily, eyes darting to gauge Tim’s reaction. Tim, just groans, sliding down in his seat in a distinctly undignified fashion as he asks Bruce if they can, “like, please not do this?”

Secretly, though, he can’t help but agree.


End file.
